Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognise, because JK is a LOT smarter than I am.

And let me say a HUGE thank you to RonsGirlFriday without whom the summary for this story would not exist ♥

For Georgia
ILY
♥

Her lids are draped drowsily over her eyes, basking in the afternoon sunshine and embracing the laziness of the day. Although, it would be a mistake to assume that her eyes are closed. The fiery intensity of the suns penetrates the thin veil separating her from sight, and a concerto of lilac and indigo flutter across her vision. Her hiding place among the lavender stalks leaves Dominique unruffled by the light breeze playing melodiously through the field, and also protects from the annoying antics of her younger brother.

‘Mini?’

The sound of a hushed voice calling her name causes Dominique to stiffen, cautiously peeling her eyelids open. The effect of the sunlight is immediate and her nose crinkles in response, causing the light dusting of freckles on her nose to huddle closer together.

‘Mini, where are you? It’s me.’

It is only as the tune of the lyrical voice speaking to her became familiar that Dominique moves. She crawls her way up onto her knees and pokes her head over the top of the flowery forest; it is easy to spot her sister’s blonde head between the vast expanse of purple before her.

‘Vic,’ she hisses, ‘over here!’

The sisters lock eyes and Victoire flicks her head round looking for the quickest route to reach Dominique. She’s a few rows of lavender away and, in her head, backtracking down the path she came along would take too long, so she takes a chance and rushes straight through the pungent plants, flattening a new track as she runs.

When she reaches her younger sister, Victoire’s breathing is shallow from a combination of the French mid-summer heat and her exuberant journey across their grandparents’ field. ‘I couldn’t sit inside any more,' she explains, 'Louis’s still trying to get me to show him my new wand.’

A wistful smile passes over Dominique’s youthful features at the mention of her sister’s imminent departure. Victoire sits down, crossing her legs in front of her and Dominique mirrors her action, not-quite-gangly legs collapsing in a heap of knees and knots.

‘Oui, je sais, mais Teddy est un idiot,’ Victoire replies, lightening the mood with a resounding impression of her mother. Of course, it is not that Fleur dislikes Teddy, quite the contrary, but she can foresee a problem with the readiness her daughters have to follow him to the ends of the earth.

The girls giggle uninhibitedly, but when it ceases the melancholy air still remains. Victoire starts to break down the walls that the stalks of lavender form around them, fiddling with the crackling sticks and weaving them between her fingers.

Victoire looks up to see her sister watching her. ‘I’m making you a crown,’ she says.

‘But you’re still leaving.’

‘I don’t want to go without you.’

Victoire responds whilst threading together her crown, not looking up for a moment, but Dominique's gaze is directed at her sister. Dominique has always been the more open of the two sisters, but Victoire’s inhibitions do not mean that she does not have feelings; just that she cannot always voice them.

So she fashions crowns and builds pedestals and laughs.

However, the ensuing quiet does not matter, as a silence between sisters is just another form of communication, but it is one that cannot be overruled by the shouts of others. They are happy to sit in this silence and dream.

They do not know that there is a limit on how much one can dream without neglecting to live; the balance is tempestuously fragile and their young souls are delicately robust.

‘Well, you won’t miss much at home, but when I go next year you have to introduce to all your friends,’ Dominique says after a little while.

It does not occur to the sisters that they will not be in the same house as one another, and neither does it occur to them that they could be placed in a house other than Gryffindor. After all, they have a Tri-Wizard champion for a mother and a Curse-Breaking-ex-Gryffindor for a father, where else could they belong? Even Teddy was a Gryffindor, Teddy who was afraid of the dark until he was ten and Teddy who cannot speak French.

And there is no room for doubt, so the sisters gather their limbs and laugh some more as they skip off to show Maman what their time in the lavender has produced.